


Giving You Me

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Set in season 6; Spike tries to show Buffy just how much he loves her, but will she take him seriously this time?Warnings: BDSM, darkness, angst





	1. Chapter 1

“Love…”

 

The voice of the renowned Slayer of Slayers held a decidedly wheedling and altogether non-threatening tone to it as he pulled himself up onto his elbows and watched Buffy dress with an expression on his face that was half leer and half pout.

 

“…do you really *have* to go?”

 

The Slayer’s response was an irritated roll of her eyes and a muttered, “Yes. I shouldn’t even be here. Dawn’s home by herself, and I have no idea whether or not Willow’s even going to be there. She’s been not even coming home at all some nights lately, and…and why am I even bothering to tell you this?”

 

She shook her head in disgust as she yanked her jeans up over her bare hips, not even bothering to look for the underwear she had worn when she had arrived at Spike’s crypt earlier that night.

 

Spike winced slightly at the dismissive tone of her voice, but found himself rising from his spot on the floor to move in cautiously behind her, far more concerned with the troubled note he heard behind her words than with her usual verbal barbs aimed in his direction.

 

“Somethin’ not all right at home, love?” he asked as he reached out to run a gentle hand from her shoulder down her arm, leaning in to place a tender, almost reverent kiss on her bare shoulder, trailing little kisses up the column of her throat.

 

How he loved to kiss her…to touch her. Spike knew deep down that his actions were probably not doing much to help his case, but somehow he couldn’t quite resist.

 

His voice was hushed and husky as he added, “Anything I can do?”

 

Buffy leaned back just slightly against him…before jerking forward again, shrugging away from his hands and lips in annoyance. “Get off,” she snapped, spinning around to face him and push him away, then crossing the room in wide, angry strides to where her discarded blouse had fallen, one arm held defensively across her naked breasts.

 

Spike stumbled to a stop where her rough shove had sent him, his eyes lowered as he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, with an effort checking his own irritation. He had to remind himself that his Slayer was really not quite herself since her bloody stupid friends had ripped her away from the peace and completion of her reward. He wanted to be understanding, to do what he could to help her through this time.

 

If only she would let him.

 

“If something’s wrong, love,” he persisted cautiously, though he did not move toward her as she hurriedly buttoned up her blouse, “I’d like to know about it. Like to help.”

 

“*If* something’s wrong?” Buffy echoed in disbelief. “Spike, *everything* is wrong – and most of all, this! I keep coming here, and I keep saying I’m not going to again, and you know what? This is it. This is the very last time. Don’t think you’re going to con me into sleeping with you again, because this is *never* happening again!”

 

Spike’s eyes widened in indignant anger, and he stalked toward her, trying to catch her gaze as she hurriedly gathered up the rest of her belongings. “*Con* you into…are you daft? You’re the one who came burstin’ in here all hot for it, tearing the bleedin’ clothes off my body ‘cause you couldn’t get to me bloody quick enough…and I don’t think I‘ve got to remind you which of us threw the other down on the bed and handcuffed ‘im down to have her wicked way. Could show you the bruises if you’d like…”

 

“Shut up, Spike.”

 

The Slayer’s voice held an edge of warning, and Spike knew that he should stop while he was…well, less behind than usual. He was still standing at any rate, and that was something.

 

Somehow, he couldn’t quite seem to close his mouth.

 

“Buffy…you come to me because you *want* to. You know bloody well I’d never try to make you do anything you didn’t want…and you make it soddin’ clear each and every night just how much you *do* want to…”

 

“Spike…”

 

“I *love* you, Buffy!”

 

“Ugh!” Buffy let out a disgusted sound of indignant protest, spinning around to face him on her way toward the door. “Spike, would you stop saying that? You don’t! You don’t know what love is!”

 

“Yes I bloody well do!” Spike declared, his voice trembling with hurt and anger. “I love you…and sooner or later you’re going to get that, love…”

 

“You’re sick and twisted, and…and just wrong, Spike. You *can’t* love…not without a soul. You think just because you…you *want* me, that’s love? Love is more than that. Love is…is caring about someone, and putting them first, and being willing to give them everything you have.” Buffy stopped, her voice softening, yet somehow crueler than ever, as she finished quietly, “You don’t even have anything to give. At least…not anything I want.”

 

Spike found to his alarm that his eyes were welling with tears, and he blinked them back as he retorted furiously, “Yeah? Seemed like I had quite a bit you wanted a few minutes ago! Make up your bleedin’ mind, Slayer, because you can’t just keep jerkin’ a bloke back and forth…”

 

“I *have* made up my mind, Spike,” Buffy stated calmly, her hand on the middle rung of the ladder as she turned to go, giving him a final glance over her shoulder. “And it’s not you. It couldn’t ever be.” She paused a moment before adding, “Goodbye, Spike.”

 

And with those few dismissive words, she climbed up the ladder, leaving the devastated vampire to his pain.

 

************************************

 

Buffy congratulated herself as she headed straight home a few nights later, resisting the powerful temptation to turn off in the direction of Restfield Cemetery. She had resolved that she would not be returning to Spike’s crypt again; she was through with the unhealthy attraction she had been entertaining.

 

Of course, being through with it would have been a lot easier if she had been able to stop thinking about him.

 

She sighed, glancing back over her shoulder before hurrying her pace along the sidewalk toward Revello Drive.

 

She stepped through the front door of her house with an overwhelming sense of relief, taking off her jacket and tossing it down across the back of the couch. It was after midnight, and Dawn was apparently in bed already; most of the lights were off throughout the house. Already looking forward to her own appointment with the comfort of her bed, Buffy headed into the kitchen to check the answering machine before she went to bed.

 

And a minute later, sleep was the farthest thing from her mind.

 

Buffy sank down onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, staring blankly down at the tile, her eyes going wide with horror as the calm, emotionless words echoed in the silent room.

 

“This message is for Buffy Summers. This is Doris Kroger with social services, calling regarding your younger sister Dawn. It’s come to our attention that she has been missing classes at school and her grades have been dropping, and it’s been recommended that we investigate her welfare. I’ll be visiting your home Wednesday morning at eight, so please make sure your schedule is clear and you’re at home. I’ll see you then, Miss Summers. Have a nice day.”

 

**********************************

 

Spike waited until he was fairly certain that Buffy would be home before making his nightly pilgrimage to her front yard. Of course, his visits had been less than nightly of late, since the Slayer had started visiting *his* home at night instead. But the last few nights, she had not come by, and Spike was beginning to fear that perhaps she had really meant it this time, and would not be coming back at all.

 

He stopped on her front lawn, a frown creasing his brow when he noticed the number of lights that were still on, unusual for…one o’clock in the morning. As he drew cautiously nearer to the front door, he could hear the faint sound of voices inside.

 

Buffy…and Red.

 

Though he could not quite make out the words through the walls of the house, Spike’s enhanced vampire hearing *could* detect a troubling sound…the sound of the Slayer crying.

 

His worry for her overwhelmed his fear for his own wellbeing, as he made his way around to the back door and slipped inside, as he had done countless times before, though usually not at this late hour. He waited in the kitchen for a moment, listening to the quiet tones of the girls’ conversation.

 

“What am I going to do, Will?” Buffy sobbed quietly. “They can’t…I can’t let them…”

 

“Buffy, that’s *not* going to happen,” Willow soothed her in a gentle voice. “They can’t just come in and take her without a good reason, and you’re taking good care of Dawn. There’s no way you’re gonna lose her.”

 

“But I’m barely making ends meet, Willow!” Buffy objected, a trace of panic in her trembling, tearful voice. “It’s almost Christmas, and we’ve barely got enough money for food, and the house payments, and…and everything…and her grades *have* been slipping, and she’s been skipping school, and…and what if they say I’m unfit? What if they decide I’m not doing a good enough job, and they take her away? I can’t stand to lose her, Will!” Buffy sniffed, choking back a sob before she added in a broken voice that was little more than a whimper, “I can’t stand to lose *anyone* else…God, Will, why does everyone always have to go away?”

 

“Bollocks! You’re as fit a mum as I’ve ever seen!” Spike could no longer hold back the outrage he felt at what he had heard, as he stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room. “I’d like to see them *try* to take the Bit away from you! Chip or no chip, I’ll tear their bloody throats out if they so much as touch her!” His rant came to an abrupt halt when he noticed the intent, disbelieving stares of both girls leveled on him.

 

Suddenly nervous, he cleared his throat, his voice and expression the picture of blank innocence.

 

“What?”

 

“Spike…” Buffy began, the words hissed out through her clenched teeth. “*What* are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night!”

 

“Well, I…was just happenin’ by, and…and heard voices…and figured I’d just…stop in and…”

 

“Well, you can stop right back out again, Spike,” Buffy snapped, rising to her feet, her fists clenched at her sides as she took a menacing step toward him. “How many times do I have to tell you to *stay away*?”

 

Spike flinched slightly, but held his ground. “Just wanted to be sure you were okay. And you’re obviously not. Buffy,” he added, his tone softening with compassion for her. “I just want to help you, love…”

 

“I don’t need or want your help,” the Slayer seethed, and Spike could hear the frustrated anger in her voice, as well as the terror that fueled it. “Spike…*get out*.”

 

The vampire struggled with the decision for a moment, wanting desperately to reach out to her, to comfort her, yet painfully aware of how badly such an attempt would be received. With a slow, sad nod of resignation, he conceded, “All right. As you wish, Slayer. Just know that…I’m here, love.”

 

“Yeah,” Buffy huffed as she turned away, not even bothering to watch as Spike headed dejectedly toward the back door again. There was a bitter sound to her voice as she reiterated the sentiment she had expressed to Willow as he had come in. “With the trend my life seems to be showing, who knows how long *that’ll* last?”

 

Spike froze at those words, wanting to turn and refute them. He knew, however, that it was a bad idea to extend this awkward encounter any farther than it had already gone.  Buffy was unlikely to listen to anything he had to say at this point, so he reluctantly began walking again, out the back door and back toward his own crypt.

 

She was unlikely to listen to him, tonight anyway. But he would find a way to make her understand, if it killed him…he would never abandon her.

 

He was hers, completely…whether she wanted him or not.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy sighed wearily as she unlocked the front door of her house and stepped inside, closing it again and leaning against it for a moment. She closed her eyes, simultaneously enjoying the peaceful silence that greeted her, and feeling sorry for herself that she was, once again, alone.

Dawn was spending the night at Tara’s new apartment, and Willow had said that she was spending the night at Amy’s…which Buffy was fairly certain equated to her and Amy going out and magically painting the town red – maybe literally.

At any rate, she had the house to herself for the evening.

Bone tired, she flung her jacket carelessly onto the couch and headed for the stairs, and a nice hot shower to wash away the layer of Doublemeat grease and grime that seemed to constantly accompany her these days. She glanced without much pleasure at the twinkling lights on the rather small, scrawny Christmas tree Dawn had insisted on putting up, irritated with herself as the thought crossed her mind that she should go over and turn off the lights.

*All that electricity…*

*No,* she thought with angry defiance. *Dawn’s not gonna have much of a Christmas as it is; the least I can do is leave her the lights.*

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking dubiously up and thinking that they had never seemed so high and intimidating.

Resigning herself to what seemed like an impossible trek on her sore, aching feet and legs, Buffy trudged up the stairs, lured by the call of the hot, steaming water that would wash away the hated Doublemeat sludge, and if she was lucky, a little bit of the full-body soreness and exhaustion.

She lingered under the steaming hot water until it became lukewarm, before reluctantly turning it off and shrugging into her soft, baby blue terry robe. The mirror was covered with a haze of steam, and therefore useless to her, so Buffy grabbed her comb and an extra towel for her hair and headed toward her bedroom.

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, as a familiar tingling sensation at the back of her neck alerted her to danger. She frowned, her heart rate accelerating as her senses told her something terrible had happened. It seemed impossible, short of the unlikely possibility of Willow or Dawn accidentally inviting a stranger into the house, but her Slayer senses were never wrong.

There was a vampire in her bedroom.

Actually…that made perfect sense after all.

“Spike,” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she swung the door open. “What are you doing in my…”

Her voice trailed off and her eyes went wide as her gaze fell on the blond vampire, standing in the middle of her bedroom waiting expectantly for her. The comb fell from her hand to the floor with a loud clatter, and her other hand dropped from the doorknob to hang limply at her side in utter shock.

“…bedroom?” she finished weakly, swallowing in an attempt at moistening her suddenly very dry mouth.

“Waiting for you,” Spike replied, his voice low and soft in the utter silence that had filled the room between them. “Merry Christmas.”

Buffy could not bring herself to tell him to go…or to respond…or even to look as far up as his eyes, for that matter. Her own eyes trailed slowly up and down, taking in his barely covered body and the leather that…well, barely covered it.

He was dressed all in black leather…if one could call his state “dressed”.

He was wearing a black leather collar about an inch wide on his throat, tight against his pale skin, and Buffy found that her eyes were drawn to the slight movement of his bound throat as he spoke. She tore her gaze from that mesmerizing sight, but looking downward did not help.

Across his chest was a harness of sorts, black leather straps criss-crossing his chest and back, adorned with various metal loops in seemingly random places, clearly for use in games of bondage. Buffy swallowed hard again, trying to suppress the flood of arousal that filled her at the thought of the games she had already played with Spike in his crypt, and all the new ones that they could discover with him in that harness.

*No! Bad games…bad thoughts…bad Buffy! There will be no more games of any kind with Spike! The only thing I’m going to do is throw him out, right now…just as soon as I…check out…the rest…*

In spite of her better judgment throwing a fit in her mind and demanding that she make Spike leave, *now*, Buffy found that she could not tear her eyes away as she drifted lower down his chiseled, flawless form, to the impossibly tight black leather briefs he was wearing, nothing more than a pair of short shorts, but much, much sexier.

*Don’t even think about it, Buffy,* her better judgment warned her. *Don’t look…don’t…*

Spike had wide black leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles, each equipped with a hook and eye type of latch so that they could be connected to restrain him. Buffy felt a pleasant little shiver low in her stomach at the sudden unbidden mental image of Spike, bound and laid out on her bed, helpless and waiting for her to do as she would with him…

A slow, delighted smile lit up the vampire’s face as he watched her closely. “See something you like, love?” he asked in a teasing, inviting tone of voice. “Whatever you see…’s all yours.”

The words could have been mockery, but they weren’t. They were far too tender and affectionate for that.

Buffy would have preferred mockery.

Whatever mesmerizing spell he had her under was immediately broken with his words, and Buffy finally met his eyes, her own blazing with anger as she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Spike, whatever sick game you’re trying to get me into, I’m not playing. Get out.”

“Now just wait a second, love,” Spike protested, moving toward her, one hand reached out to touch her. “Hear me out…”

“I don’t need to hear you out,” Buffy cut him off, pulling back before he could make contact with her. She was having a hard enough time resisting the terrible allure of the temptation before her *without* the added effect of Spike’s expert touch to contribute to the saturating heat spreading swiftly through her body. “What I need is for you to get out of my bedroom and let me get some sleep.”

“Now, love,” Spike cajoled softly, edging in nearer to her though he lowered his hand, “you an’ me both know that whether I leave or not, you won’t be going to sleep for a bloody long while, now will you?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in anger at his knowing words, and her voice hardened as she repeated, “Get. Out.”

“Know what you’re thinking, Buffy, and you’re wrong,” Spike hurried to explain, making no effort to obey her command. “This isn’t just about new an’ excitin’ ways to get your jollies. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“No,” Buffy agreed with false sincerity, her eyes wide and innocent as she shook her head. “You just showed up in my bedroom dressed like a *sex slave* so that we could sit and have hours of meaningful conversation.”

*Mmmm…Spike as my sex slave…*No*! Bad Buffy!*

Spike drew in a hurried breath as if to argue her point, but then held it a moment before sighing, “Well, no. But there’s a bit more to it than you’re thinking, love. I did this to prove a point to you, and… I’m not leaving ‘til it’s good and well proven.”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, mentally debating, before she sighed and raised a single brow in a silent question, waiting, dutifully trying to focus on what he was saying between the dual distractions of her own irritation, and her increasing desire for what was on such enticing display.

“I love you, Buffy. I’m yours. And I’m never gonna run out on you, love.”

Indignant at the fact that Spike had hit so close to her current abandonment issues, Buffy opened her mouth to argue, but Spike hurriedly went on before she could.

“Whatever you need, Buffy, that’s what I’m here for. This soddin’ outfit…just to illustrate the point, love. Told you once that I’m your willin’ slave…that wasn’t just words. Meant every one of ‘em, Buffy, and I’m here to show you that I am *yours*…do what you will with me, pet.”

Buffy’s lips turned upward in a tight, false smile. “Okay. Just let me get my stake.”

“Hey, now.” Spike frowned, reaching out again impatiently to touch her arm as she moved as if to leave the room. “None of that, love. I’m bein’ serious, here. I *love* you, Buffy…”

“No, you don’t,” Buffy snapped, losing patience.

“I do,” Spike insisted, “and this time I’m not leaving ‘til you know it.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in response to the perceived challenge in Spike’s stubborn words, and she stood up straighter, taking what she hoped was a menacing step closer to him.

“Wanna bet?”

“You think I don’t get love…can’t understand it ‘cause I’m a soulless monster,” Spike continued, ignoring her none-too-subtle threat. “Well…yeah,” he conceded. “I am a monster; I know it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love, and I do. *You*.”

“You don’t even know what the word means,” Buffy sneered, her voice trembling with the irrational anger that rose up within her at Spike’s words of devotion.

“Yes, I bloody well do!” Spike shot back, raising his voice in outrage. “Don’t know where you got the bleedin’ rot that demons can’t love, but it’s not true, Buffy! We can, an’ I know just as well as you what the bloody word means! It’s thinking of the other person before yourself…putting them first, doing for them even when sometimes you don’t want to.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, irritated to find that she had no contradiction for his words, and reluctantly surprised at the accuracy of his definition.

“It’s sacrifice, Buffy. It’s bein’ willing to lay down your life…and I don’t just mean by dyin’…for the person you love.” Spike’s voice was quiet, earnest, and he moved closer to her, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers as he reached out cautiously to take her arms in his hands. “Willing to give up anything…*everything*…and I am, Buffy. For you.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and her cool smile faded as she gazed into those deep blue eyes, astonished as she realized that he was completely sincere. Her heartbeat quickened as he shifted closer, and she felt her body responding to his nearness, the scent and feeling of him so near to her, in ways that had become far too familiar to her of late.

Ways that should have been forbidden.

Spike’s voice was low, hushed, and enticing as his hands moved slowly up and down her arms, and he leaned in closer to add softly, “Has *anyone* ever loved you like that, Buffy? Ever?”

As so often happened, Spike had managed to find the worst possible thing to say.

Suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable and defensive, Buffy angrily shoved Spike’s hands off her before shoving him forcefully away from her. The vampire stumbled a step or two backward as Buffy moved forward into his space.

“You think you know me so well, Spike? You don’t know anything about me!” she snarled, furious. “What could you possibly have to offer me?”

“*Everything*,” Spike insisted, not backing up as she moved forward, not striking back at her, simply allowing her to move in close until mere inches separated them. His voice was low, controlled, but trembling slightly with the intensity of his emotions as he continued, “That’s the whole point, love. Whatever you want from me…I’ll do it…be it. I’m *yours*, Buffy, whether you want me or not. Whatever you want to do to me, love.” His voice was barely a whisper by now. “Whatever you want me to do…”

Unable to stand the tenderness, the love in his voice – gifts he offered, but she knew she could never accept – for another moment, Buffy struck out, slamming her fist down across his face with vicious force, knocking him a few steps backward into the wall. She stood there in silence, trembling with her fists clenched at her sides as she struggled to bring her tumultuous, confused emotions under control.

Spike just stood there with his back to the wall, his head turned slightly from the force of the blow she had delivered…still not striking out at her with a return blow, not even voicing any objection to the violence that even she already realized had been completely undeserved.

For some reason, that was infuriating, too.

Buffy slowly advanced on him, her fists still clenched at her sides, struggling to control her anger and frustration. “What is your problem, Spike?” She bit off the words through clenched teeth. “You just gonna stand there? You can fight back now…so why don’t you?”

“Told you, love,” Spike replied without hesitation, raising his eyes to hers and holding her gaze without backing down. “ ‘M yours, yeah? That means all the way. Do what you will. Use me, shag me…hit me…whatever you need, love. I’m giving it all to you. Anything.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock at his words, as understanding filled her, as well as a tremendous sense of guilt. It was unbelievable that Spike would be willing to give that much to her…and even if he was, she knew that she could not deserve that kind of love and sacrifice. She looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer, and found her eyes unconsciously focusing on Spike’s well-built and attractively bound torso.

She quickly looked away again, turning her eyes toward the floor.

“Go,” she said softly, her voice barely over a whisper, as she withdrew out of Spike’s personal space, one arm crossed defensively over her chest, her hand running self-consciously up and down her other arm. “Just…just go.”

She could feel Spike’s eyes on her for a long, intense moment, before he let out a heavy sigh of disappointment, and headed toward the door – just as he had said, doing exactly what she wanted.

*But…it’s *not* what I want…*

*You can’t always have what you want, Buffy. What you want is not always good…*

*But I *want* it!*

*Let him go. Just…let him go…*

Spike’s steps were slow and reluctant as he made his way toward the closed bedroom door, opening it with resignation as he prepared to concede the failure of his attempt and walk away.

Abruptly, the door was pushed out of his hand and firmly shut by Buffy’s hand, and Spike felt the Slayer’s warm body pressed against his from behind. Unsure of her motives at the moment, he turned to face her, studying her face warily. His expression softened with relief and desire as he saw the reluctant tenderness in her eyes, the desire in her trembling, parted lips as she slowly looked him up and down, taking in with obvious pleasure the outfit he had donned for her benefit, before raising her eyes to meet his again in a hazy, desirous question.

“Anything…huh?”


	3. Chapter 3

*Anything, huh?*

 

Spike studied the Slayer’s expression, searching her desire-darkened eyes, as a slow smile spread across his face. His eyes softened with an awed elation, scarcely able to believe that she was really accepting his offer, as he reached out tentative hands to rest on her hips, gently pulling her in closer to him.

 

“Anything,” Spike repeated, his voice soft but emphatic, willing her to see his sincerity in his eyes. “I mean it, Buffy. I’m yours. Anything you want me to do or be, love, I’m givin’ myself to you.” He couldn’t resist a little smirk as he added, “Merry Christmas, love.”

 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion, her expression growing serious as she pressed forward, her advance causing him to back up against the door again as she leaned in close, deliberately invading his space as she asked in a soft, almost dangerous voice, “Why?”

 

“You know I love you.” Spike’s answer came without hesitation, though his eyes closed for a moment, and he seemed a little breathless at her nearness, intended to intimidate, but having a much different effect entirely. “Know I’m yours. And…and I can’t soddin’ stand to see you have the kind of Christmas this is shapin’ up to be for you, love. You deserve to have so much more, and…and while I can’t give you all that…I wanna give you what I can, pet…and that’s all of me.”

 

His voice was low and intense as he looked up at her earnestly, meeting her eyes as he added, “I want to leave no doubt, Buffy…I *love* you. And if it takes total surrender to prove that, well, that’s what you’ll bloody well get, pet. Whatever you want me to do…”

 

His words broke off with a soft intake of breath as Buffy’s hand rose to tangle in his hair, drawing his head back slightly as she whispered, “Let’s start with ‘shut up’.”

 

And then, she proceeded to enforce her command by covering his mouth with hers, her tongue a welcomed intrusion between his eagerly parted lips, as she released his hair and ran her hands greedily over his body, trembling fingertips tracing the smooth black leather that bound the hard marble of his chest and back.

 

Her fingers began to slow, her motions becoming smoother as she explored the smooth planes of his chest and torso, her kiss deepening as she began to realize her power. She pulled him forward slightly, only to push him forcefully back against the door again, and he groaned into her mouth as his head smacked against the wood panel, though the sharp, quick pain of the impact was a small price to pay for her affections, as far as Spike was concerned.

 

He fully expected to be paying a much greater price before the evening was through.

 

The Slayer’s fingers traced slowly along the highest strap of the harness, positioned a couple of inches below his nipples, her fingernails scratching lightly just beneath the taut leather, across the highly sensitized skin beneath. As her hand moved to just beneath his nipple, she flicked her thumb upward to graze it, and Spike jerked slightly under her touch, gasping unneeded breath as he drew his mouth away from hers, his head falling back.

 

“Buffy,” he breathed out as she flicked his nipple a second time, allowing the leather strap to fall against his flesh again with a mildly stinging snap. “Buffy, love…”

 

“Shut up,” the Slayer hissed against his lips, jerking his head back again before trailing her mouth slowly down his throat toward his shoulder, alternating kisses and teasing bites that were just a bit harder than was comfortable. “And *don’t* call me that!”

 

Of course, comfort was the farthest thing from Spike’s mind at the moment.

 

“All right,” he gasped as her hands traveled lower on his torso, creeping toward his tightly bound abdomen. “Whatever…whatever you want, Buffy…”

 

“Spike,” Buffy whispered seductively into his ear as her hand slipped down to cup the bulge in the front of his tight leather shorts. “I want you…”

 

He drew in his breath sharply, his head falling back against the door, his eyes closed. Abruptly her grip tightened and she jerked him forward slightly by her hand on his covered erection, and Spike bit back a startled moan of mingled pleasure and pain as she bit off the rest of her words in a sharp hiss.

 

“…to *shut*…*up*.”

 

She smiled as he stifled the cry that rose to his lips, leaning in closer to ask in a hushed, almost gentle voice, “Can you do that? Can you keep your mouth shut for two seconds?”

 

Spike nodded hurriedly, eagerly, his hips automatically thrusting forward into her touch.

 

“Good,” Buffy replied in a soothing voice, her smile widening with pleasure at her control as her fingers pressed into the smooth leather, slowly circling the covered head of Spike’s straining member, while the vampire’s hands clutched at her hips, trying to draw her closer, to increase the contact with his aching need.

 

“Uh-uh-uh,” she reproved him teasingly, her hands closing around his wrists and pushing them back against the doorframe, holding them there as she held her body back, just out of contact with his. “No touching…not unless I say so. Okay?”

 

She inwardly winced at the uncertainty revealed by the last word, wishing she had not added it. She was still not all that confident about this “taking what she wanted” thing, after all – but it certainly wouldn’t do to let Spike see that.

 

Of course, judging by the affectionate amusement in his sparkling blue eyes, it was a bit late for that. Still, he did nothing to deliberately betray his knowledge; he just nodded obediently, looking expectantly into her eyes, awaiting her next command.

 

“Hmmm,” Buffy mused, her smile widening as she stepped back a little further to survey her “present”, and felt a stirring deep within her at the openness, the vulnerability in Spike’s expression and demeanor – not to mention the overall deliciousness of the outfit he was wearing. “I could *really* get used to this.”

 

Spike suppressed a soft laugh, raising one eyebrow, and Buffy knew that there was plenty he wanted to say; but to his credit, he kept quiet, continuing to obey her command to do so.

 

Of course, Spike could say more with his eyes than Buffy could ever seem to manage with her mouth.

 

*Gives him a little bit of an unfair advantage…*

 

“So…” Buffy smirked, struggling to keep her voice calm, and cover for her fears and uncertainties. “Now that I’ve got you where I want you…what to do with you? Hmm. Anything I want, huh?” Her eyes suddenly widened with delight as an idea occurred to her, one that had as much to do with her weary back and feet as with the rising desire she felt for her forbidden vampire lover.

 

Spike nodded, his expression growing serious once more as he saw that she had come up with something to ask of him.

 

Buffy gave him a shy little half-smile that was almost apologetic as she released him, lowering her eyes self-consciously for a moment before raising them again to ask, “How are you with…massage?”

 

Spike did not even attempt to respond with words, but his smile became a smug smirk as he reached out and gently took her hand, moving away from the door to lead her toward the bed. Buffy could not remember the last time she had had a decent massage, and she felt a sense of delicious anticipation spreading through her as she reached the bed.

 

Her eyes went wide when they fell on the nightstand, and a black tray she had not noticed before. It was not the tray itself, but the numerous tempting items laid out on the tray that caught her attention, causing her cheeks to flush with embarrassment, and her sex to flood with arousal at the thought of all the deliciously forbidden things she could do with Spike -- *to* Spike – with those things.

 

“You brought me sex toys?” she asked incredulously. “Spike…okay, you can talk now. You brought me *sex toys*?”

 

Spike shrugged in a self-deprecating way as Buffy went to the tray, almost in spite of herself, and started picking up the items on it, examining them with a sort of idle fascination.

 

“Your Christmas present comes with accessories,” he remarked with just a trace of a smirk.

 

Buffy smiled in spite of her embarrassment, shaking her head at him as she picked up the various items one by one – a leather gag, a cock ring, several paddles and clamps, and other items which she couldn’t even identify – before turning back to face him.

 

“We’ll get to all that. First…my massage.”

 

Spike nodded with a thoughtful smile. “Right, then. Get undressed, love.”

 

Buffy sauntered toward him, feeling more confident with every moment that passed, allowing her to become more accustomed to the idea of the power Spike had given her over him. But she knew that he would only be willing to let her take it so far without changing his mind, taking back the gift he had offered her.

 

After all, that sort of selflessness required the ability to love, and that was something Spike lacked, whether he knew it or not.

 

By the end of the evening, however, Buffy was determined that she would convince him that he was not as willing as he thought to give her all that she needed.

 

In the meantime…she was going to have a little fun.

 

“Uh-huh,” she replied flatly, abruptly gripping the collar around Spike’s throat and yanking him forcefully closer to where she stood near the head of the bed. “You first,” she declared as she pushed him back onto the bed, his knees hanging over the side.

 

She grabbed his wrists and fastened them together around the top right bedpost, before gripping his collar and holding him down with one hand, and reaching for the zipper of his leather shorts with the other.

 

“Buffy,” Spike began uncertainly, unable to see what she was doing from the position she held him in.

 

“Shh,” Buffy warned him as she freed his swollen erection from the confines of the tight leather garment and grasped it boldly in her hand. “Mine, right?”

 

“Right,” Spike gasped as she ran her hand slowly up and down his sensitive flesh. “R-right…gaahh, bloody…*Buffy*…”

 

Now *this* was familiar territory.

 

After the recent months of impossibly blissful wrongness she had spent secretly sleeping with Spike, Buffy had come to know his body almost as well as she knew her own. She knew all the ways and places to touch him that would make him yield to her will, knew just how to bring about exactly the response she wanted from him…which, at the moment, was helpless, desperate babbling under the power of the pleasure and desire she was building in him.

 

“Bloody hell! Buffy…please, love…ughhh…*Buffy*…”

 

She waited until she had built him up to a fevered pitch, desperate for release and seconds away from it, before she suddenly stopped, withdrawing her hand even as his body arched up toward it in a fevered attempt to maintain contact.

 

“Buffy…please…” he gasped out, straining against his bonds. “Don’t stop.”

 

“Okay.” Buffy smirked down at him, enjoying the sight as he writhed helplessly on the bed. “That’s enough talking for now.” As she spoke she took the leather gag from the tray and pressed the mouthpiece between his parted, trembling lips, fastening the straps tightly behind his head.

 

Spike let out a pitiful, pleading moan as Buffy picked up the cock ring next, and fastened it around the base of his throbbing manhood, mercilessly tight. Impossibly pleased with herself, Buffy pressed downward as she pulled the shorts back up again, zipping them closed again with a jerk that drew a yelp of startled fear and surprise from the bound vampire.

 

“Okay,” Buffy declared, sounding quite pleased with herself. “*Now* I’m ready for my massage. Just…give me a minute.”

 

She slowly removed her clothes, making sure Spike had a good view as she did, waiting until she was completely naked to lean over him, taking her time as she unfastened the leather cuffs from around the bedpost.

 

“Now,” she said, lingering over him, her firm, bare breasts hovering temptingly over his face for a few moments longer than necessary as she gripped his wrists and held him down against the mattress, “don’t worry, Spikey. We’ll take care of your little problem…eventually. But if all this is for me…all about what *I* want and need…then you won’t mind waiting, will you?”

 

Spike swallowed hard, panting through his nose with frustrated desire and need, but finally he shook his head, accepting her words.

 

Buffy was surprised, but also relieved.

 

It would have been a shame for this pleasant little game to end so soon.

 

“You’re gonna get me all nice and relaxy,” she went on as she took his hands and pulled him up to as sitting position while she stood up straight again. “And take your time about it; I like nice *long* massages. And if you do a really good job…we’ll see about getting *you* a little more relaxy, ‘kay?”

 

Spike nodded with a shaky sigh at the thought of waiting that long for the release he was so desperate for, but accepting of the fact that he would have to wait. He had known when he had decided to do this that she would not make it easy on him.

 

He was the one who had gotten himself into this, after all.

 

Buffy took Spike’s hand and led him to stand up, before sitting on the edge of the bed herself, preparing to lie down. Almost as an afterthought, she suddenly jerked him closer to her by the hand, her other hand reaching down to grasp him again through his shorts.

 

“Oh, and Spikey?” she added calmly as he left out a muffled yelp through the gag. “If you try and touch yourself…think I won’t notice? I will. And if you do…” She pulled him closer to her with both hands, a slightly dangerous gleam in her eyes as her voice softened, a sly smile spreading across her lips. “…I’ll tie you to the bed…and I’ll keep you like this for *days*, Spike. Would you like that?”

 

Spike shook his head emphatically, his eyes wide with alarm at the suggestion.

 

“I might…but good call.” Buffy smirked with a shrug, releasing him, as she lay down slowly on the bed on her stomach, her arms at her sides, and prepared for her much-needed massage.


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy felt her weary muscles tingling in anticipation of the touch of Spike’s expert hands. Over the past few months, she had learned that the vampire had an uncanny sense for where she needed to be touched and how, and not only in the bedroom – or rather, on the floor of his crypt, as the case usually was.

 

This was not the first much-needed massage he had given her after an exhausting shift or two at the Doublemeat Palace.

 

The first touch of his cool, firm hands against the back of her neck sent a delightful shiver down her spine, and Buffy drew in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly as she tried to relax. It was probably an instinctive Slayer thing, the warning alarms that screamed danger at the feel of the vampire’s fingers so close to her vulnerable throat. In spite of it, however, in spite of all her confusion, there was one thing of which she was sure.

 

Spike would not hurt her.

 

At least, not unless she gave him a good reason.

 

He was leaning over her from the side, his hands, slowly warming from the contact with her heated skin, just sliding down to caress her shoulders when Buffy’s hand slipped from the bed. He didn’t notice its blind seeking…not until it found what it sought, firmly cupping his bound erection through the leather shorts he wore.

 

Spike let out a muffled yelp of surprise from behind the gag in his mouth, one hand instinctively leaving her shoulder and following her hand to his groin, though whether to catch it and stop its progress, or aid it in its pursuits, even he was not sure.

 

“No.” Her tone was sharp, warning, and Spike’s hand froze before reaching hers, his stomach dropping at the subtle threat in her voice…and his need for her intensifying. “I said no touching, remember? You’re supposed to be relaxing me.”

 

She shrugged without raising her head or shoulders from the bed where she lay, looking considerably more comfortable and at ease as her fingers began to slowly move up and down across the smooth, taut leather. Spike drew in a sharp breath through his nose, stifling a groan of mingled pleasure and frustration, struggling for the control he needed to calmly continue her massage.

 

“The sooner I get all soothed and refreshed,” Buffy reminded him with a wicked smirk, “the sooner we’ll take of all your little…frustrations.”

 

As she spoke, she brought her thumb down to stroke under the bulge in the leather firmly, and the vampire jumped with a muffled little cry, his trembling fingers resting on her shoulders, but not yet moving again. Buffy frowned, catching his eye with one eyebrow raised, as she pointedly drew her hand back, ceasing the contact that was both soothing and tormenting at the same time.

 

“If you can’t stay focused, Spike, I’ll stop. But that’s *not* what I want. I *want* to get a nice, relaxing massage…*and* to play with my nice new Christmas present. It is mine, isn’t it?”

 

Spike nodded, almost frantically, almost beyond rational thought at this point, and utterly confused as to whether it made things better or worse for her to be touching him at the moment.

 

“Can you give me what I want, Spike?” Buffy asked, her voice dangerously soft, sending a pleasant little thrill through him at the sound. “Can you give me both at once?”

 

Spike hesitated just a moment, before nodding hurriedly, his hands becoming firm on her shoulders once more as he prepared to continue her massage. A few moments after he had begun once more kneading her sore, tender flesh, expertly working out the tension of her day, her insistent fingers once more found his needy member.

 

This time, however, Spike was at least somewhat better prepared.

 

He jerked slightly at the intimate contact, but did not cease his ministrations to her needs, reminding himself that this was all part of the plan, really…proving to her that he was willing to sacrifice his own desires, his own pleasure, to fulfill her needs.

 

And if what she needed in that moment was to dominate him…well, he was going to let her.

 

Buffy’s soft little sigh of pleasure as she shifted slightly, getting more comfortable on the bed even as she deliberately increased his discomfort, did little to ease his situation. His bound erection strained painfully against its taut leather confines as he worked his way slowly, thoroughly down from her shoulders to her back, trembling yet strong fingers finding the points of tension and working them out of her one by one.

 

The Slayer rolled her shoulders, arching her back slightly as she let a moan of pleasure and satisfaction slip from her lips, even as she deliberately stroked her fingertips over the leather, beneath the place where it bulged so desperately, where she knew his sensitive sac would be.

 

Spike stifled a strangled moan of need and desperation, fighting to keep his hands moving slowly and surely over her body, giving her what she needed, even as the feel of her silken skin beneath his hands contributed to his own rising desire, which was rapidly becoming more than desire – rapidly shifting to a point of need and pain so intense that he wasn’t sure he would be able to carry out her request.

 

*But that’s the point of this whole soddin’ exercise, in’nit?* he reminded himself firmly. *Showin’ her that I can love her unselfishly…give her everything. ‘S not about me, what I need…’s all about her…*

 

He drew in a sharp gasp, his eyes rolling back as a helpless shudder rocked him at the touch of her expert hand, which knew just how to touch him to make him need her more than ever.

 

*Always has been…*

 

As his hands left her back, leaving formerly taut, aching muscles soft and limp, utterly relaxed, Spike turned his attention to her thighs, noting with what would have been a smirk if not for the gag that they were trembling, an unwitting betrayal of her own desire. A wicked gleam in his eyes, he slyly shifted down the bed slightly, moving himself just barely out of her reach, as if he had to do so in order to reach the next area he was to massage.

 

Buffy’s hand grasped blindly at air for a moment, her eyes narrowing in irritation as he oh-so-innocently turned his back to her, focusing his attention intently on the soft flesh he was kneading with his fingers, working slow circles into the backs of her shaking legs. She only allowed it for a few moments before her Slayer speed came into play, and she had flipped over and was sitting up on the bed, giving him an accusing look that was half-angry, half-amused.

 

He gave her a wide-eyed, questioning look over his shoulder, without turning to fully face her, his crystal blue eyes sparkling with mischievous mirth.

 

He had already decided to give her whatever she wanted tonight…but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun, too.

 

Without warning her hand reached out and snatched the back of the collar he wore, yanking him backward as she rose to her feet, holding his head back against her shoulder as her free hand slipped around him to boldly splay her palm across his leather-bound groin. Spike moaned, biting down reflexively on the gag in his mouth as her touch became more intimate, more possessive, tracing the muted outlines of his covered flesh with firmly pressing fingers.

 

Suddenly, he *had* to touch her…had to feel her hot skin beneath his cool fingertips, had to take part in the slow, torturous process she had initiated. He raised his hands instinctively, reaching toward hers.

 

A low, warning command stilled his hands, however, before they could reach their goal.

 

“*Don’t*.”

 

Spike froze for a moment, swallowing hard, before dropping his hands to his sides again in submission. He felt Buffy’s smile behind him, heard it in her voice as she stroked him firmly, whispering in his ear in a voice of soft, taunting amusement.

 

“I thought you said you were mine, Spike. Thought you were gonna let me do whatever I wanted. So what’s with the pulling away?”

 

Spike shook his head rapidly, at the same time thrusting forward slightly into her hand, to make it perfectly clear that he would not resist her, not again. He *was* hers, as he had promised. Buffy’s low, throaty laugh behind him sent a shock of pleasure and arousal through him, and his head fell back against her shoulder with a muffled moan as she traced small circles in the smooth leather that bound him.

 

“That’s better,” the Slayer crooned, releasing her grip on his hair, but continuing her slow, enticing manipulations of his body. “Except…there’s one little problem, Spikey. I was supposed to be all relaxed, and it worked…for a little while. But I’m not feeling so relaxed anymore. I’m feeling more…worked up. Think you can help me with that little problem, too?”

 

Spike could not help but smile around the gag in his mouth, pleased with the success of his own efforts, as he nodded his acceptance of her request. As he did, his hands slipped cautiously backward to rest on her hips, one of them holding on in a steadying way as the other edged slowly inward, toward the source of the arousal he could feel, smell all over her.

 

He felt her hips thrust forward for just a moment, before firm hands caught his wrists, pushing them in front of him again, crossing them and pulling them back to his sides so that his arms were crossed tightly across his torso. Buffy rose up on her toes to whisper teasingly in his ear.

 

“I don’t think so. I didn’t say you could use your hands for this one, did I?”

 

Spike shook his head again, speechless with or without the gag from the way Buffy was taking so quickly to the whole dominatrix routine. There was something surprisingly arousing about the feel of her small, powerful hands, restraining him, manipulating him in whatever manner she chose. His throbbing, aching manhood, though uncomfortably covered, felt strangely exposed, bereft of her stimulating touch, and he found himself thrusting mindlessly forward into nothing, desperate for the completion she was thus far withholding from him.

 

“No, no, Spikey.” Buffy smirked. “Not yet. First, you see about *me*.”

 

She released his arms and pushed him forward against the bed, a hand at the back of his neck pushing him down so that his face was to the mattress. Without giving him a chance to react, or even to adjust to the swift changes in his circumstances, Buffy pulled his wrists behind his back and fastened the leather cuffs together, before hauling him back up to his feet by his collar.

 

At the pressure of the gag across his throat, Spike choked slightly, his eyes widening as he struggled instinctively to draw breath he didn’t need.

 

Buffy did not seem sympathetic to his plight.

 

“Now,” she continued in a commanding voice as she turned him around to face her and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes narrowed over a predatory smile as she ordered coldly, “On your knees.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened again as Buffy slowly, enticingly, spread her legs, arching her back slightly to give him an unhindered view of her bare body. His throat felt hot and dry, despite his lack of body heat, and he swallowed hard in an attempt to moisten it as he sank obediently to his knees in front of the seated Slayer.

 

Buffy’s eyes went wide as well, and she drew in a sharp breath at the sight of him, kneeling before her. Spike heard her heartbeat quicken, the scent of her arousal intensifying as she reached out a gentle hand to stroke the backs of her fingers down his cheek, her eyes softening with something akin to affection. She smiled almost tenderly, drawing her fingertips across the smooth leather surface of the gag in his mouth, then back up his cheek and through his hair.

 

He gazed up at her in wonder, well aware of the obvious worship and adoration in his eyes, that it was there, on display for her to see and use as she pleased. He didn’t care; it was a bit late in the game for him to think of salvaging his pride, protecting the depth of his feelings for her.

 

For the moment, it was enough for him to drink in the fleeting tenderness of the touch, of the brief warmth in her eyes, these days often so cold and empty.

 

“I guess we’ll need to do something about this, won’t we?” she sighed regretfully as she unfastened the gag and carefully removed it, setting it aside. “And I was starting to enjoy the quiet.”

 

Spike cleared his throat, flexing his jaw with a slight wince at the soreness from the intrusion of the gag. “I’ll be quiet,” he assured her after a moment, his voice low and husky with his own desire for her, but his eyes solemn and full of devotion. “I’ll do whatever you want, love…already told you that. Anything…”

 

“And already,” Buffy cut him off softly, her fingertips caressing over his lips in a gently silencing gesture, “you’re not.”

 

“Oh, right.” Spike paused, clearly just realizing the flaw in his logic. “Sorry, love. Didn’t think that…”

 

“Spike.”

 

He stopped, looking up at her expectantly.

 

“Shhh.” Buffy laid a single finger against his lips, waiting until she was sure he was going to be quiet before removing it. “Less talk. More action. Now.” As she spoke, her hand tangled in his blond hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging him insistently forward. “You know…unless you’d *rather* stay like you are all night.”

 

Spike needed no further encouragement.

 

Buffy gasped with a shock of pleasure as his talented mouth set about making her forget all about her games, her back arching further, her breath quickening, as she instinctively clutched his head closer to her, simultaneously thrusting forward. She was not the only one who had gained an intimate knowledge of the other’s body over the past few months, and Spike had become an expert at just the sort of little details that brought her body to its peak of pleasure.

 

“Spike,” she moaned softly, her head falling back as she drew in her breath sharply, gasping out, “Gah…*Spike*…yes…”

 

Encouraged by her words, and the rising frenzy of pleasure he was creating in her, Spike found himself drawing out the encounter as long as possible, in spite of his own rather uncomfortable state, using every little trick he had learned over the past few months to withhold her completion as long as possible.

 

“Spike,” Buffy urgently gasped out. “I need…Spike, please…please…”

 

He smiled against her skin, a gentle tug with his teeth and a thrust of his tongue pushing her over the edge, her center flooding with her release, her thighs trembling as her orgasm overcame her and she collapsed onto her back on the mattress with no semblance of dignity remaining – no longer the powerful, self-possessed dominatrix, but rather the sated, overwhelmed girl.

 

Spike sat back on his knees, watching her with a great sense of satisfaction as she slowly recovered. When she finally sat up and looked at him, it was to see a pleased smirk on his lips, a wicked sparkle in his blue eyes. The Slayer could play at power games all she wanted, but Spike knew that when it came down to it, he still knew exactly how to reduce her to warm, melting putty in his hands.

 

The lazy, satisfied smile on her lips slowly faded, her eyes narrowing, and Spike felt a quiver in the pit of his stomach at the dangerous light he saw in them. “That wasn’t very nice, Spike,” she chided, one eyebrow raised in a warning expression.

 

“Really,” he drawled, not sounding convinced. “’Cause you seemed to find it very nice a few moments ago.”

 

“Not nice to make me beg,” Buffy clarified, rising to her feet, once more striking a regal pose over him. “That’s not what I asked for.”

 

“Yeah,” Spike conceded with a half-shrug and a wicked grin. “But you had a bloody good time, didn’t you?”

 

Buffy’s smirk matched his own as she admitted, “Yeah.” In a swift motion she gripped his collar and yanked him to his feet, turning to toss him down forcefully onto his back on the bed. “And my good time’s not over yet.”

 

Spike could not suppress his relief as she straddled him, reaching above him to bind his wrists to the bedposts on either side of the bed, then twisting around to bind his ankles as well. Bound to the bed, unable to move, was a rather helpless position to be in; but it was not exactly a position conducive to his serving her needs, either. It was a fairly good indication that she was about to turn her attention to *his* body, for better or worse.

 

“My turn, then, yeah?” he rasped as she turned to face him again, still straddling his waist as she leaned forward, grasping his bound wrists and covering his mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss.

 

“Yeah,” she nodded, a sly smile on her lips as she reached a hand behind her in a torturously light touch on the front of his leather shorts. “Your turn to beg.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Buffy…love…I’m sure this is right bloody amusin’ for you and all, but…*gah*! Bloody…soddin’…*Buffy*!”

 

Spike’s cautious protests faded swiftly into helpless babble as Buffy stroked him firmly through his leather shorts, alternating light, teases traces of her fingertips with harder, more insistent pokes and pinches. The bound vampire arched his back, pushing upward into her touch, desperate for more than was possible with the thick, taut leather between her hand and his swollen, aching member.

 

“Buffy…please, love…” he gasped out as she teasingly withdrew her hand, holding it just out of reach of his straining attempts.

 

“Oh, come on now, Spikey,” Buffy protested with an exaggerated pout. “That’s no fun. You weren’t supposed to get to the begging *that* quickly.” She paused, a smirk on her lips as she leaned in close and met his eyes to whisper, “Has anyone ever told you you’re easy?”

 

Spike returned her smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement despite the tension of his situation. “All the time, love,” he confessed, his tongue darting out between his teeth in a suggestive gesture that had become quite familiar to Buffy over the past few months, but still did not fail to quicken her pulse…and other things as well.

 

Buffy suppressed a giggle, giving him a severe look, though her eyes were laughing. “Slut,” she accused in a low, dark voice, swatting lightly at his aching groin.

 

Spike bit back a strangled whimper at the harsh contact, jerking against his bonds in an instinctive reaction. Buffy ran her hand slowly over the area she had just slapped in a gesture that would have been soothing had he not already been so painfully aroused. As it was, the touch only served to intensify his pain and pleasure, now impossibly mingled together and bordering on agony.

 

“You like it like this, don’t you?” Buffy continued in that same low, dirty tone of voice that he found so impossibly arousing. “Being my little slut…my little sex toy, all tied down for me to play with…you like it, don’t you, Spike?”

 

Spike nodded obediently, though his response was not only because he knew she wanted it. “Yeah,” he gasped out breathlessly. “Yeah, Buffy…”

 

He drew in his breath sharply as she suddenly unzipped the front of his shorts, allowing his weeping erection to spring free of their confines. The cool air of the room hit his throbbing member, now warmed by the combination of his own arousal and the nearly constant friction Buffy had been creating, and the sensation made him tremble with pleasure and need.

 

Buffy gripped his bound member a bit more tightly than was pleasant, jerking forward as she leaned down over him, smiling into his eyes. “Good,” she remarked, “because you’ve still got a good long while to enjoy it. You gave me a *really* good Christmas present, Spike…and I’m nowhere near finished playing with it.”

 

As she began to pull slowly on his engorged manhood, her thumb slipping down to stroke the underside in a slow, circular motion, one last thought filled Spike’s head, before the capacity for rational thought left him completely.

 

*She’s got you tied down, torturing you, using you like a bleedin’ dildo. You shouldn’t be so bloody turned on by this, mate.*

 

But he was, despite himself…and he was in no state to fight it. As she slowly, torturously worked his body to an even higher frenzy of need, Spike surrendered completely to the sensations, allowing them to consume his thoughts in a tumultuous confusion of pleasure and agony and need.

 

*************************************

 

*He shouldn’t be so turned on by this. I’m *using* him. Like some kind of sex toy, just…just using him! He’s not supposed to like it.*

 

Buffy’s frustrated thoughts were followed immediately by an accusing voice in her head, reminding her of what she already knew, what she had been trying not to think about since surrendering to Spike’s request.

 

*Neither are you, Buffy. You’re not supposed to enjoy treating him like this…using him…degrading him…*

 

Of course, the fevered, pleading moans and whimpers that her hands managed to wring from the writhing, desperate vampire beneath her made it hard to focus on that thought. Spike bucked beneath her, his wrists and ankles twisting against the leather that bound them as he struggled to find some release for the ever-rising pressure she was building within him.

 

*He could break those cuffs if he wanted to,* Buffy realized, her smile fading into a more serious expression at the thought that followed that one. *And he will…any minute now. He’s not going to take this for long.*

 

She ignored the sensation of panic that gripped her heart at the idea, the mental image that filled her mind of Spike snapping the cuffs – or possibly the bedposts – with ease and rising from the bed with a snarl, probably striking out at her before stalking from the room, never to darken her door again – or to allow her to darken his, either. No one would put up with the kind of torment she had been putting him through tonight; no one would allow themselves to be used in that way…not for long, anyway.

 

*But that’s what you want…isn’t it? For him to finally realize you’ll never love him? Realize, give up, and go away?*

 

Buffy put that question out of her mind, choosing instead to focus on Spike’s beautifully responsive reaction to her touch, as she trailed her fingertips teasingly down the underside of his erection, pausing at the base to flick her thumbnail sharply across the surface of the swollen, aching sac behind it.

 

Spike let out a startled yelp, and she couldn’t tell whether it was pain or pleasure that had elicited the sound. She giggled darkly, repeating the motion, gratified by the low groan he let out, even as he pressed upward into her touch.

 

“No,” she stated with a smirk, “that’s all you get for now, Spikey.”

 

He let out a plaintive whimper of protest, apparently beyond words at that point, but she just shifted forward slightly, pressing his torso down firmly against the mattress, and stretching his arms painfully against their restraints. He looked up at her through anxious, questioning eyes, still hazy with the overwhelming sensations that filled him, obviously wondering what she was going to do next.

 

“Buffy…Buffy, please…” he gasped out, his pelvis thrusting upward behind her in a desperate attempt to regain some sort of contact.

 

“Shhh,” she commanded sternly. “Don’t make me get the gag again.”

 

Spike bit his lower lip, turning his face away slightly and closing his eyes as his breath began to come in short, shallow pants through flaring nostrils. Buffy was filled with the thrill of her power as she realized just how hard it was on him, how his body was yearning for the completion she was denying him.

 

But she was not finished yet.

 

Buffy had moved far enough up on the mattress that the tray of toys on the nightstand was now easily within her reach. She smiled as she stretched toward it and selected a pair of tiny clamps, testing their tension between her thumbs and forefingers. She was a bit startled at the strength of them, wincing inwardly as she thought how painful actually wearing them might be.

 

*Good thing I’m not going to be wearing them…*

 

Spike’s eyes were still closed…but only for a moment longer. As Buffy fastened one of the clamps onto his left nipple, his eyes flew open and he cried out in pain. He looked up at her pleadingly, his eyes fevered and glassy as he writhed beneath her in a vain attempt to ease the pressure. Buffy just smiled down at him as she placed the other clamp on his other nipple, her smile widening as he drew in a sharp hiss, but did not cry out again.

 

He stifled a whimper as she gave his left nipple an experimental flick, observing how much more sensitive the clamps made his already tender flesh. She frowned pensively, turning to watch his bound member as she flicked his nipple again, a smirk crossing her lips as his erection jumped slightly within its bonds at the contact, and she realized that the clamps were not solely an instrument of punishment.

 

“Like that, do you?” she observed, repeating the gesture on the opposite nipple. “Like a little hurt mixed in with your lovin’, Spike?”

 

“Always have,” he ground out through clenched teeth, his entire body jerking as she gave the sensitive skin just below one clamp a pinch between the nail of her thumb and forefinger.

 

“That’s good,” Buffy mused. “Wonder how much you can take?”

 

“How much can you dish out, love?”

 

Buffy froze, staring down at him in amazement, taking in the open expression on his face as he met her eyes, gazing up at her with an intensity that made her want to turn away. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, her jaw setting defensively, and she opened her mouth for an angry retort…but Spike beat her to the response.

 

“Not a challenge, pet,” he assured her, his voice low and husky with the intensity of the sensations ravaging his body. “Just lettin’ you know…however much you can give out…that’s what I’ll take, love. Already told you…I *love* you. I’m yours…an’ that means no matter what you do to me, you’re not gonna change that, Buffy. Not ever.”

 

Spike had done a lot of things over the years to piss Buffy off. He had tried to kill her numerous times, kidnapped her friends, and generally been an annoyance in every way he could find. He had even insulted her sexual prowess – albeit, long before he actually had any frame of reference for his comments. Many times over, she had been very angry with him, angry enough to kill him.

 

Somehow, in that moment, his soft but strong declaration of undying love topped them all.

 

An irrational fury rising up within her, Buffy scoffed at his words, rolling her eyes as she echoed flatly, dubiously, “No matter what. *Anything*.”

 

“ ‘S right, love,” Spike whispered, gasping for breath against the ever-building pain that shot from his abused nipples, straight through his body to his trapped and swollen groin. “Anything. ‘ll always love you.”

 

“You can break out of those,” Buffy observed in an almost accusing voice. “You can get up and walk out of here anytime you want.”

 

“I know,” Spike agreed softly, meeting her eyes with a solemn, intent gaze. “Just don’t want to.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Buffy sneered, her voice trembling with some emotion she didn’t want to try too hard to identify. “What if I do *this*?” As she spoke, she reached out to squeeze one of the clamps between her fingers, pressing it tighter for a moment before giving it a vicious twist.

 

Spike bit back an anguished moan, a spasm of pain seizing his body, before she released her agonizing grip, and he collapsed back against the mattress, gasping for breath.

 

“Still feel like sticking around?” Buffy demanded softly, her face inches from his.

 

Spike did not hesitate, only nodded firmly, unable to find the words to speak just yet in the wake of her unexpected assault.

 

“Hmmm,” Buffy murmured thoughtfully, though there was a frightening hardness to her voice as she reached behind her, pinching the head of his erection tightly between her fingers. “Okay, then,” she went on casually, ignoring the vampire’s plaintive cry of pain as she dug her nails into his most vulnerable parts. “How about now? Still wanna stay? Still so madly in love with the Slayer you were supposed to kill like all the others?”

 

Spike hesitated this time, flinching slightly at her harsh words, but it seemed it was more to regain his composure than out of any doubt as to his own answer. After a moment he gasped out, “Yes…Buffy…”

 

“You’re pathetic, Spike,” Buffy snarled, cutting off his halting voice, unable to bear the concern and sympathy she heard in it – unable to make herself stop long enough to analyze why such concern would be in Spike’s voice at the moment. “You’re a pathetic waste of a vampire – not even able to fight me. All you can do is follow me around, trying to get me to love you. Well, I’m *not* going to, Spike. Get that through your head. I don’t deserve to be with a filthy, disgusting *thing* like you.”

 

Spike looked up at her, and Buffy was dismayed and frustrated to see that instead of anger, she saw sorrow and understanding in his eyes. “Buffy,” he whispered. “Let me up. Let me…just let me hold you, love…”

 

Incensed by his words, Buffy struck out at him, backhanding him across the face before leaning down close to him, her voice shaking dangerously now, her vision blurred slightly as she declared in a scathing tone of disgust and hatred, “I’ll *never* let you hold me, Spike. I’ll never let you that close. You’re a worthless, soulless thing. There’s nothing good in you, Spike. Why would I ever lower myself to your level?”

 

Spike flinched, a wounded expression in his eyes, and something predatory in Buffy latched onto that, pressing forward toward an objective she was not even quite aware of, forcing herself to ignore the impulse to stop this madness, now, to loosen his bonds and allow him to take her in his arms.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she persisted, her voice soft and seething with rage. “You’re thinking that I already have. I’ve already let you in. But not really…and you know it. After all the nights we’ve spent…all the things we’ve done…you’ve still never really touched me…and that just kills you, doesn’t it? Knowing that I’ve *never once* really let you in?”

 

Spike closed his eyes, shaking his head in denial of her cruel words, his body trembling in response to them, but she went on.

 

“How about this scenario, Spike? What if I keep you here…just like this…frustrated and in pain and suffering, just because I *like* you like this? Just because I *hate* you that much? And I’ll touch you…and I’ll mock you…and I’ll use you…but I’ll *never* let you in. Never again. Because you’re not good enough. And I’ll tell you so, every day. You’ll be my pretty little sex toy…but never anything more. Because you *couldn’t* be. You’re not a man. Nothing. Worthless. All I could ever want from you is to use you. And I’ll make sure you *never* forget that.”

 

Buffy drew in her breath softly at the end of her rant, her eyes widening in startled horror at the poison that had spewed from her own mouth. Spike was quiet, his eyes closed, his head turned to the side, appearing strangely calm as he listened to her enraged words, making no response, though his body was trembling with pain and need…not all of which was purely physical.

 

Her voice was quiet, almost defeated, as she finished.

 

“What about then, Spike? What if I decide to do all that to you? You still gonna love me? How are you gonna feel about me then?”

 

Spike was quiet for a long moment, and Buffy blinked back the tears blurring her vision, surprised to find them in her eyes at all. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, staring down at the still, silent vampire. Her throat went dry and her heart ached as she became aware of the slight shaking of his shoulders, the convulsive working of his throat as he swallowed back a sob, and the dark circles of moisture on the bedspread on either side of his face.

 

Spike was crying.

 

And when he spoke, his words sucked the breath out of her, her stomach dropping like a stone within her.

 

“Gonna love you, Buffy,” he replied to her question in a voice hoarse with tears and heavy with devotion. “Still. *Always*.”


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy found herself profoundly shaken by the soft certainty in Spike’s voice, even as it trembled and strained with the physical and emotional agony she had spent the evening inflicting upon him. After all that she had done to him, not only this night but many others, the idea that he could still love her so completely, still be so willing to give himself so fully to her, was utterly overwhelming.

His words echoed in her mind, reverberating with a powerful finality that struck a chord of guilt and regret deep within her.

*No matter what…I’ll always love you, Buffy…no matter what you do to me…*

“How?” she whispered, her voice hoarse with the tears that blurred her vision. “How can you still say that to me?”

Spike remained silent, his eyes closed and his head turned to the side. He swallowed reflexively, visibly struggling to rein in the emotions that were clearly visible in the moisture that flowed down his cheeks. He shook his head slightly, more an indication that he was either unwilling or unable to respond than a rejection of her or her question.

Buffy felt an irrational anger rise up within her at his stolid, unwavering determination to give her the love he had promised, regardless of whether or not she had done anything to merit such devotion. Her eyes narrowed, fresh tears flowing down her cheeks, though she made no effort to stop them or wipe them away. Her hands formed fists on either side of his head as she leaned over him, glaring down at him with anger and defiance.

“You’re so stupid,” she declared in a voice that trembled with rage. “So unbelievably stupid. Can’t you see I don’t want you? Couldn’t ever love you? And you still hold on…you still try to believe that one day…maybe…things will be different? Like one day we’re gonna have some perfect little house with a perfect little yard and a white picket fence? Do you have any idea how pathetic that is?” she snarled, bitter accusation flowing with her words. “How *sad*? Do you really think it’s ever going to change? That I’m ever gonna want you for more than just sex?”

Spike was quiet for a moment, still not looking at her, until finally he rasped out a brief, tearful response that was no less genuine and poignant for its simplicity.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed again in rage. “How can you say that?” she demanded, biting off the words in a dangerously trembling voice. “It *doesn’t matter*? Are you saying that you *know* I’ll never love you? You’ve accepted that? And it doesn’t make any difference to you?”

Spike was still and silent, visibly struggling to rein in his emotions. Finally he nodded, his answer coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Yeah. ‘S right.” He slowly turned his eyes back up to hers, tears streaming freely from them, and the anguish she saw in them hurt her own heart, made her want to turn away.

Almost defiantly, she forced herself to hold his gaze despite her own shame.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike whispered, the whole of his aching, desperate vulnerability wide open and clearly visible in the faintly quivering lines of his face. “’S no difference whether you love me back or not. Yeah, bloody well wish you would, but…but doesn’t make any difference as to…as to whether or not I love *you*. If it did…” He turned his eyes away at last, much to her intense relief, struggling for words as he tried again, “If it did…”

“…it wouldn’t be love.”

Spike’s eyes went wide at her unexpected, whispered completion of the thought he had been trying to express. Buffy drew in a soft, sharp breath herself, stunned at the words that had issued from her own mouth, already shaking her head in denial of them.

“But…it’s not,” she stated in a low, bewildered voice that sounded more than a little lost. “It’s not love, Spike. You *can’t* love me…”

“I do…” he insisted softly, humbly.

“*No*!” Buffy snarled, slamming her fist down, hard but harmlessly into the pillow, a few inches to the right of Spike’s face. “No, you can’t! You’re an evil, soulless *thing*! You don’t know how to love…how to feel! Maybe you were human once…maybe you felt something a long time ago…but you’re not, and you don’t! Not anymore!”

Spike did not flinch from her violent actions or furious words, simply swallowed back his own tears and retorts and allowed her to go on, venting her rage and confusion on the bed around him, waiting with resignation for the blow that would inevitably strike his face with as much force as her words were inflicting upon his unbeating heart.

“You’re a filthy…disgusting…monster!” Buffy continued, slamming her fist down with each word for emphasis, though she had yet to touch him with a single blow. “And you don’t *deserve* to be loved! You weren’t supposed to be this way…weren’t supposed to turn out like this! You came back wrong, and you can *never* have that kind of love again! Do you understand me? *Never*! You don’t deserve it! You…you…you’re not worth it...not good enough…”

Her hoarse, anguished words rang with a depth of pain and self-disgust that tore at Spike’s heart, and his wrists flexed against the bonds that held them as he heard the underlying emotions beneath the surface of her verbal assault, and longed to take her in his arms, to comfort her and shield her from her own self-loathing. But…not unless she wanted him to…

“Buffy,” he whispered, straining against the bonds with a mere fraction of his full strength.

“Shut *up*!” the Slayer nearly screamed in her rage, drawing back her fist and slamming it down across his face with brutal force.

Only the soft mattress beneath him cushioned Spike from the blow that would have knocked him unconscious had the bed not absorbed a portion of its force. As it was, the blow split his lip and cracked one fine cheekbone, leaving him struggling against the blinding flashes of electric pain that shot through his face, struggling to remain conscious and aware…because Buffy was hiding, hiding behind her anger and the violence she had learned years earlier to use to hide her confusion and pain.

And whether she was ready to admit it or not…she needed him.

A tense, weighted silence fell between them, broken only by the soft, shuddering sound of the Slayer’s breath. Spike kept his head turned away, his eyes closed as he carefully rotated his jaw, trying to feel whether or not it was dislocated. It seemed to be in working order, but he did not speak, waiting in silent caution for her to speak…to react…to make the next move.

Buffy drew in a sharp, gasping breath, skittering backward across the bed, off him to kneel between his legs, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. Spike tentatively looked up at her, and was alarmed by the wide-eyed panic on her face, the way she was shaking her head in desperate denial.

“No…oh, Spike,” she whimpered. “No…”

“Buffy…”

She shifted slightly up the bed, pointedly shying away from too much contact with him as she reached with trembling hands to remove the agonizing clamps from his nipples, dropping them over the side of the bed to the floor in obvious disgust. She then unfastened his cuffs from the bedposts, before crawling to the foot of the bed to free his ankles as well. She shook her head, refusing to accept the gentle sound of his voice, the tenderness she heard there which indicated that yet again, her violent outburst would not be held against her.

“No,” she whispered her protest, moving back to kneel between his spread legs, but further away from him, a listless hand rising to her cheek to swipe at the tears that flowed freely there. “Spike…I’m so…so…”

“Buffy, love…’s all right, pet…”

“No, it’s not,” she insisted, meeting his eyes for a moment in horrified dismay. “It’s not all right.” She hesitated, before speaking words she had already spoken many times that night, only this time with a much different connotation. “You…you don’t deserve me, Spike. You don’t deserve…this…” She waved an accusing hand in the general direction of the bed, indicating the violence and degradation to which she had subjected him.

Spike watched her closely as he rose on sore, trembling arms, sitting up to face her. “Buffy…love…” He tentatively reached out his throbbing, tingling hands toward her arms, sensing that she was ready to flee at any moment, and wanting nothing more than to keep her here, with him, for just one moment longer.

She pulled weakly away from him, all her strength seemingly having vanished with her rage, her shoulders shaking with sobs as she whimpered, “Don’t. Don’t touch me. How can you…how can you *want* to touch me, after…after what I’ve done to you…? I can’t believe I…I’m such a *monster*…”

“No,” Spike objected earnestly, shaking his head as he followed her attempt to evade him, strong but gentle hands taking her arms and holding her in place. “No, you could never be…”

“But I am. I’m not…not right, Spike! Something’s…wrong with me,” the Slayer sniffled, this time making no effort to escape his tenderly restraining grip. “You were right. I c-came back…wrong…”

“I was a bloody fool to ever say it,” Spike declared, his voice trembling with self-directed anger. “You didn’t. I was just…just trying to hold onto you, I guess. To make you…make you think you should be with me. But you’re just the same as you ever were, Buffy. You’re just fine…”

“If I was just fine,” she insisted, her eyes downcast, unable to bring herself to look at him in her shame. “I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t treat you this…this way.” She choked back a sob as she finally forced herself to meet his gaze, shaking her head in bewildered wonder. “I didn’t think it was…possible. I mean…you’re a vampire, but…but you…you love more deeply…more completely…than anyone I’ve ever known. H-how is that possible?”

Spike shifted in slightly closer to her, a soft, almost shy smile rising to his lips as he looked up at her from under lowered lashes, impossibly dark and thick.

“Let me show you.”

Buffy raised her arms slowly, tentatively, her shaking hands closing on Spike’s arms and drawing him in nearer as she nodded hurriedly, sniffling back more tears. “Please,” she whispered, her eyes closed, gasping softly as she leaned in toward Spike, her yearning a palpable feeling between them. “Please…”

Spike silenced her desperate plea with a tender, intimate kiss, his lips caressing hers gently, cautiously, as though she were some fragile thing that might fall apart if he pushed too hard, moved too quickly.

In point of fact, he realized with an awed sense of wonder and reverence…she was.

Her lips softened, her body yielded, the hard lines vanished in the face of his tentative advance. When he turned them slightly, guiding her down onto her back on the bed beneath him, he raised his eyes uncertainly to hers, a silent question in his deep, searching gaze.

Her eyes were wide, her breath quickening, as she nodded her consent, and Spike lowered his lips to her throat, caressing the sensitive skin there. Buffy felt her pulse quicken, the back of her neck tingling at the dangerous proximity of the vampire – the vampire whose chip no longer worked on her – to her vulnerable throat; but she did not withdraw, did not push him away. Rather, she arched her head backward, one hand rising to the back of his neck, pushing him gently forward, welcoming the contact.

“I love you,” he raised his lips from her throat long enough to murmur. “Believe me?”

Buffy nodded, gasping as he kissed her again, his hands sliding slowly up her sides, his thumbs gently pressing along the line beneath her breasts. “Spike,” she whispered urgently, leaning into his touch, pulling him closer to her, desperate to lose herself in the intensity of his touch.

She didn’t even notice the fresh tears that still streamed from her eyes.

Spike did.

“’S all right, love,” he whispered in her ear, one hand rising to stroke her damp, disheveled hair back from her forehead. “I know things are hard…know it’s hard to see how it’s gonna get better. But I’m here for you, pet. I’m yours. I’ll do anything you need me to do to make this better, love…anything I can do for you…I will…”

Between uttering soft, reverent promises of devotion, Spike’s lips trailed gradually down from her throat, down her shoulder to the top of her breasts, worshipping her body with his mouth as he held her close.

“Please…make me…”

“Yes, love?” he pressed her when her trembling words trailed off, looking anxiously into her eyes. “What?”

“Make me forget…”

Spike studied her expression for a long moment, worry creasing his brow, as he froze over her. Sensing his tension, Buffy opened her eyes, looking up at him with a question that slowly faded into understanding. She raised a tender hand to cup his cheek, holding his gaze with her own eyes serious and open in a way he had rarely seen them.

“Things aren’t going to be like they were,” she promised him softly. “I mean it. I…I get it now. I know I can’t just…just hide from everything. I can’t…can’t use you like that. Not anymore. I *will* deal with it…*we* will…but for now…please…just make me forget…”

Spike saw the honesty in her eyes, and an overwhelming sense of relief washed over him, an elated smile spreading across his face, lighting up his eyes with his adoration for her.

“Now, *that*,” he whispered in a low, seductive voice, trailing one hand down her side toward her hot, aching center, “I can manage…”

As Spike’s expert fingers set about a task at which he had become quite adept over the past few months, Buffy let out a soft gasp, her head falling back against the pillow as her hands clutched him closer to her. His hand swiftly had her in a frenzy of need, thrusting her hips upward urgently toward his touch, her breath coming in short, shallow pants.

“Spike,” she whispered breathlessly. “Please…please…”

He could not help but smile at her unabashed pleading, her game forgotten as she simply gave herself to him freely. “Please, what, love?” he prodded gently.

“I need you…inside me,” she gasped out. “*Now*…”

“As you wish, love,” he murmured, positioning his still-bound member over her sodden sex. “Always…whatever you need, love…whatever you want…”

As he lowered himself into her, she let out a hoarse, broken cry of shock and pleasure, desperate fingers mindlessly clutching his bare hips and drawing him nearer to her. Spike winced at the intensity of the contact on his engorged, over-sensitized erection, biting back his own cry, which would have been more of pain than anything else at the moment.

She had forced him to wait so long, at this point he was desperate, aching for release.

But Buffy and her needs were more important to him right then.

In his desperate need, he considered reaching down and unfastening the leather ring that bound him, but knew that once he did, it would only be a matter of moments before he achieved his elusive release…and Buffy needed longer than that. Despite the aching, frantic agony that pulsed through his body, he would have to endure it, have to hold out for just a few minutes longer, for her.

“Spike,” she gasped, her fingers digging greedily into his bare flesh, holding him to her as she thrust upward toward him. “Spike…gah…I’m…it’s almost…*Spike*…”

*Okay…so maybe closer than I thought…*

She let out a primal, animalistic cry of pleasure and release as she reached her completion, holding him to her as she collapsed onto the bed, gasping for breath. “Spike…God, Spike…I…I…” She opened glassy, distant eyes in a slow, lazy smile of sated pleasure, raising her hand to his face again as she whispered, “You’re so…so amazing…”

“Buffy,” he whispered. “I…I love you…”

She gazed up at him, her expression softening as she traced her thumb over his trembling lips. “I know,” she replied with an apologetic little grimace. “And…and I…I think I might…” She hesitated, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I…I’m not ready yet,” she admitted. “But…but I know. Is that…is that enough? For now?”

Buffy’s eyes were wide and searching, open with a vulnerability Spike had not seen there in a very long time, at least not so pure and unmasked as it was now. Her tousled, damp blonde hair falling around her face, the way her lips trembled slightly as she waited for his response, only contributed to the impression of vulnerability and need.

He was intensely relieved to see it.

Spike nodded, his disappointment almost completely overcome by the promise of her honest words. “Yeah,” he replied with a nod. “It is.”

She looked down with a shy, relieved smile, running her hands over his hips again with a soft moan of satisfaction. Spike drew in a sharp breath at the continued sensations coursing through his body, wincing at the intensity of the friction as her body moved around him, still nestled inside her.

Buffy’s eyes widened with realization, and she went still all at once. “Oh,” she whispered, swallowing hard, her gaze lowered in apologetic shame.

“Buffy,” Spike began hesitantly, his voice hushed and reverent. “Love…can I…?”

Buffy looked back up at him, bewildered at the question…and then stunned as she understood. “Spike…” She shook her head slowly. “…you don’t have to ask. We’re not…the game…the game is over…”

Spike smiled shakily, giving her a grateful look as he reached down to unfasten the leather ring that bound him and cast it aside. He let out a slow, shaky breath as he settled deeper into her, his arms encircling her as his eyes met hers.

The intensity in his gaze, his words, stole her breath away as he began to move slowly within her, awakening sensations she had thought herself past for the moment.

“I was never playing.”

Buffy felt fresh tears spring to her eyes, though this time of gratitude and relief, as they moved together in a perfect rhythm, each body knowing the intricacies of the other’s needs, until they achieved a simultaneous release, locked in each other’s arms. As Spike collapsed upon her, his cool body a welcome, comfortable weight on hers, Buffy slid her arms around him, embracing him and holding him close to her.

She wasn’t ready yet to face the depth of what she felt for him – or to admit it at any rate – but she was ready to claim the gift he had offered her, that had made this Christmas special, and better than it could have been otherwise.

The gift of himself.

As the last hours of the night faded away, the Slayer held her vampire close, and the two of them drifted off together into the peaceful embrace of sleep.

~

 FINI


End file.
